


Sunshine and Agrimony

by Oopsynini



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Assisted Suicide, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Everybody Dies, Gets You in the Feels, I'm Sorry, Lost Words at the End of the World, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oopsynini/pseuds/Oopsynini
Summary: Sometimes at the end of the world loving each other is not enough. Sherlock just wishes it did not have to end like this.OrThe beautifully sad telling of Sherlock and John's last moments together in the zombie apocalypse.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this horrible little dream in my heart last night and needed to get it down in writing. In no way is this related to my other Zomie AU Johnlock fics.
> 
> Your song for inspiration is:  
> If the world was Ending - JP Saxe

Sherlock turned his head, examining the sun crisped, browning countryside with assessing eyes, and a hyper-vigilance that came from months of being hunted. The only break in the monotone color was the abundance of yellow agrimony blossoms that dotted the acres ahead. They’d made it out of the city three days ago. Resource had run out, the dead had overrun the streets, and at some point, it’d just become too much. Out here it was a bit like culture shock. Neither he or John had come across another human being, alive or dead since their first day out of the city. They also hadn’t come across much food, but it was Sherlock’s opinion that the transition had been well worth the cost.

John was up ahead, his thin frame swaying as he stepped one foot in front of the other through the tall overgrown trail of browning grass. His movements were mechanical, his gun at his side, his head and shoulders rounded with exhaustion and malnutrition. The back of his shirt was damp and salt-stained from the afternoon sun beating down on them; it hung off one bony shoulder, exposing the soft skin their to the hot rays of the sun. On top of his head his bright mop of dirty-blond hair was tangled and still had leaves in it from where he’d attempted to sleep the night before. Sherlock was of the opinion that he probably hadn’t slept a wink. John rarely did these days, to haunted by death and fear. Sherlock left him to his own devices, stepping in only when the other man collapsed from sheer exhaustion. There was no room for petty squabbling now, not when just living was so damn hard.

Understandable, when one was dealing with the end of the world.

Up ahead John paused on his way around a bend in the trail his lower body half obscured by the slope of the hill they’d been following for the last half hour. “Hey what do you think about stopping for a bit?” He called over his shoulder, turning his head and offering up one of his lopsided warm smiles. Sherlock caught sight of bright blue eyes even from where he stood and smiled back. 

“Sounds good darling, it’s getting rather hot!” Sherlock admitted, pushing his sweat laden hair off his forehead. John grunted his agreement, the humming of cicada’s singing drowning out the sound of his voice as he raised his arms above his head in a slow stretch that flashed the tight, hollow expanse of his belly.

Neither one of them saw it coming. Sherlock, to busy examining the muscle waste of John’s midsection, and John with his tired eyes squinting up at the vibrant blue sky. All he knew was that one moment John was standing, and the next he was barreled to the ground, a writhing form overwhelming his small figure with a snarling howl.

“John?” For whatever reason it didn’t register at first what was happening. Sherlock stumbled to a halt, long legs tangling in the grass as his brain struggled to catch on to what it was seeing. John scrambled on his back, legs kicking out as he attempted to dislodge his attacker, hand flailing in an attempt to grab the gun he’d dropped.

It was John’s heart-wrenching scream that finally broke Sherlock from his daze. “John?!” Sherlock felt his voice break as terror sent his heart launching like a panicked rabbit in his chest. Moving faster than he had in days he dashed down the trail. His knife was in his palm before he even thought about it, instinct finally taking over. He slammed into the decaying form of John’s attacker with a vengeful snarl, shoving the undead man off and down to the ground.

For a moment it was nothing but twisting limbs and scrambling hands. He felt the creature claw at his arms with nails that had grown long and sharp. Felt his own hands sink into fetid, ruined flesh, grabbing at bones and deteriorated cloth for some sort of purchase, until he managed to get his knife up, slamming it home into the dead creature's skull with a resounding crunch of metal on bone. The zombie went limp, it’s unseeing eyes stilling in their hollow sockets, it’s arms dropping from where they gripped into the skin of Sherlock’s forearms.

In the sudden, deadened stillness only the sound of John’s ragged, pained gasps filled the air. Sherlock dropped the knife, scrambling on hands and knees over to where John lie, crumbled in the wheat toned grass. His hand clutched weakly at the ruined mass of his throat.

There was blood everywhere, so much blood. “Oh god, John, no sweetheart.” Sherlock moaned, dropping to his knees beside the older man with a heartbroken sob. Desperately he reached out, covering the damage with his own hand. His fingers slipped in the mess of broken skin and blood and butted up against the torn, exposed tube of John’s trachea, pinched around damaged arteries.

John let out a desperate, animal whine of pain, his fingers clenching around Sherlock’s wrists instead of his neck. His blue eyes were wide and terrified, “Sher-Sher?” He questioned, so confused the words half-formed in his wrecked throat, blood spilled from his lips, staining his chin red.

“Shhh shhh shhh sweetheart. Don’t talk.” Dropping his head down he pressed their foreheads together, squeezed the swells of Johns's throat in an attempt to stop all the blood. _So much blood._ “It’s alright, everything's alright.” Sherlock sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks and onto John’s face, mixing with his blood in watery trails.

“Fuck that - a bit not good.” John slurred, blinking rapidly passed tears, his voice a rough gargle of what it once had been. Sherlock choked on a sobbing laugh at the familiar words, nodding his head in agreement. John’s lips wobbled, attempting a smile before baring down into a grimace of pain. “Can’t-don’t let me turn.” He gasped out, flicks of crimson exhaling with each, and Sherlock flinched, closing his eyes. There was no fixing this, no magical solution to the horrible virus that had brought down society and stronger men than them. The scratch marks on his arms ached already, burning with an infection that would take over in hours if he allowed it.

They’d both agreed.

Against him John stilled, the soft sounds of pain turning into a last, guttural sigh. Sherlock opened his eyes, moaning a broken sob of despair as the last of the light left John’s eyes. The hand clenching his wrist went lax. “Oh no - John. No.” Sherlock sobbed, wrapping his arms around the thin, fragile shoulders of his partner he dragged the other man’s limp body close, sobbing into the swell of John’s shoulder. His tangled black curls grew damp with the blood that burbled up from John’s open neck. “I’m so sorry-so sorry.” Sherlock moaned, pressing one hand to the back of John’s head to support it against his shoulder.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, rocking in place with the slowly cooling remains of his lover. Was hardly aware, of the baking sun overhead, or the sticky drying of blood clotting on his skin. His tears spilled for hours, until they dried out from dehydration, leaving him aching and feverish.

“Your the best thing that ever happened to be John. I love you.”

Against him John stirred, a soft groaning sigh sifting against the fabric of his shirt. Sherlock moaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head in denial as John twisted in his arms. Dragging John’s struggling limbs down with his hardened muscles, he tugged the other man it tight, forcing him close. “I know love, I know.”

Reaching out his hand he patted across the ground, until it hit the hard metal of the gun laying by his thigh. The bite of teeth on his shoulder had him stiffening, letting out a broken sob. Moving his head down against the side of John’s he pressed his palm to the other's face so they pressed cheek to cheek, chest to chest, heart to heart.

“Goodbye John.”

The gunshot rang true, spraying crimson across wheat gold grass and alimony flowers. The cicada’s sang on, interrupted by grief.


	2. Chapter 2




End file.
